


A Test

by TheHuggamugCafe



Series: Teacher And Student AU [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bless my Discord pals' hearts for planting the seed for this musing, Discord pals are amazing, F/M, I'm so cheating and using this marvellous dork's Code: Realize appearance for this, Professor!Arsène, Reasons for going to class: This dork right here, Student!Reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-11-26 02:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: A dismal test grade, every student’s worst nightmare. What made it even worse is what your French teacher asks you afterwards.“If you have some free time during lunch, will you return here, please? Say around… 11:40? I would like to discuss your test grade. Is that fine with you?”





	A Test

**Author's Note:**

> It’s happening. It’s finally happening.
> 
> Professor!Arsène Lupin is officially a muse of mine.
> 
> I would like to take a moment to thank my Discord friends for planting this seed into my head, so here’s a special thank you to my Discord pals! Thanks, dears! You’re all amazing!
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

Monday.

Your least favourite day of the week.

The beginning of a week of a fresh bout of Hell.

The beginning of five days of work, tests, assignments, and of being stuck in a class you had grown to loathe.

You would have preferred to stay home, curled up in the comfort of thick covers and your head cradled by a warm, lumpy pillow.

You would have much preferred to feign having a malady that didn’t exist if it meant you didn’t have to attend school, if only for a day.

And yet… And yet…

You _disliked_ your French class, but not for the standard reasons students generally hated classes.

The teacher didn’t raise his voice or demean you or your fellow classmates; in fact, for the four weeks he substituted for the normal French teacher, you had yet to witness him raising his voice more than was necessary. At least no higher than he _had_ to raise his voice, making sure that the class could hear each and every word that left his mouth. It was a nice gesture, but you saw no point. Whenever you entered your French class for third period in the morning, he would already be waiting, sitting at his desk with a warm glint in his eyes that were reminiscent of amber, and a matching smile that showed you—and the other girls—a teasing hint of teeth that were white and so perfect as he bid everyone a good morning.

No insults or derogatory titles were hurled at you or your peers.

Sick days were forgiven, polished off with pleasant and genuine wishes of a quick recovery.

Assignments turned in late? _“I will excuse it this time, but please meet the deadline for the next one.”_

Homework finished in record time before class? _“I can’t help but see a blotch right here. Did it occur when I started roll call, perhaps?”_

A student or students struggling with work? _“Do you have time during lunch? I’ve noticed you slipping in class, and I don’t wish to see any of my students lagging behind.”_

Professor Arsène Lupin was every college-age girl’s dream teacher brought to life.

“Mademoiselle (Y/N), not your best.”

_Speak of the handsome devil himself…_

A soft and crisp noise was heard as your test paper was set down in front of you; a mixture of irritation and fresh fatigue washed over you.

Your head hit your desk with a soft thud as you breathed a groan, irises silently ogling the 58% scrawled at the top right-hand side of your test paper in red ink.

You had bombed it. You _knew_ that the previous Monday when the paper had slid underneath your tired eyes, having stayed up well past the time you usually went to bed to study for the test in the morning the previous evening, you’d end up bombing the test.

To your credit, you managed to get away with a passable-at-best grade; it was a much better grade than you thought you’d get, if you were being honest.

You passed, yes, but fortune smiled on you for scraping by with such a dismal mark.

It wasn’t like you to almost flunk a test, not at all.

You were neither an overachiever or an underachiever; rather, you were a healthy balance of the two.

The snickers and whispers of your classmates reached your ears, but especially the giggles of the girls as several cold, crow-like sneers glared into your back as you remained as you did: slumped over in your seat, head resting on the wooden surface of your desk, hands splayed out in front of you.

Your warm skin contrasted with the cool feeling of the mahogany wood pressing against your cheek; silently, you felt heat crawling up your neck to burn your cheeks, coloured with a faint rosy hue as the quiet laughter and silent jokes continued.

You breathed a soft huff through pursed lips, narrowing your eyes as the snickers of the girls who sat in front of you, behind you, and on your left and right didn’t go unnoticed.

“58%? Sheesh. Talk about a moron.”

“Like you did any better? You scraped by the skin of your gums!”

“At least I didn’t just _barely_ pass!”

You breathed a second huff through your mouth, disturbing the hair that fell in front of your eyes like a curtain.

However…

A sudden and sharp noise was heard as the French teacher’s hands were brought together in a clap—it was a brief noise, one that resonated throughout the classroom—and just like that, all chatter and whispered hisses were brought to an immediate halt.

“Please settle down.”

All eyes were on the substitute French teacher: Arsène Lupin.

His warm amber eyes silently and slowly, but thoroughly, passed a look across the classroom, pausing for a few moments as his gaze landed on you.

It was for a few seconds where time didn’t seem to exist as your gaze met your teacher’s eyes, but…

You could have almost _sworn_ that he smiled, but it was gone no quicker than it had appeared, so you mentally shrugged it off as having been nothing more than a trick—a lovely trick, but deceitful all the same—your eyes played on you.

“Now then… Let’s go over some common mistakes I noticed on the previous Monday’s test. I ask that everyone pay attention, especially those who scraped by, please.”

The moment Professor Arsène’s back was turned and he began writing on the blackboard, you noticed a few girls tossing you tooth-filled sneers, their eyes dancing with silent laughter while staring at you.

You did nothing but give them a mental—and visible—eye roll, furrowing your brows as you tossed them the briefest of scowls before, finally, you directed your attention back at the substitute French teacher.

_It’s your fault._

Your tired gaze stared—more like glared daggers—into the back of your teacher, brows lightly pinching the slant of your eyes, lips pursed to a light frown as Professor Arsène went over the common errors he found over last week’s test.

_It’s your fault._

All around you, no matter where you looked, or how many times your eyes shifted left and right, all you saw were your fellow female students ogling their teacher with love struck eyes. They were all but drooling over him, sharing quiet giggles whenever they thought his eyes landed on them.

_It’s your fault—ah, who am I kidding?_

You breathed a quiet sigh, shifting in your seat. You ignored the telltale squeak of the chair as you moved, trying to find a comfortable position.

 _It’s not his fault. It’s_ my _fault._

It wasn’t your teacher’s fault for why you just _barely_ passed a test.

He may have been the cause of it, but ultimately, the blame was placed directly at your feet.

Suddenly, the time you spent musing the past two weeks over asking for a transfer to another language class didn’t sound nearly as bad as you originally thought.

But then again…

_Would that truly solve anything? He’ll still be on my mind, anyway._

If someone claimed you were obsessed with Professor Arsène Lupin, you would flat-out deny it.

You _weren’t_ obsessed with him, not at all.

Your mind just so happened to drift to him a few minutes each day, but he wasn’t on your mind 24/7.

“Mademoiselle (Y/N)… Mademoiselle (Y/N)… Mademoiselle (Y/N)? Are you paying attention?”

Swallowing thickly, your head shot up, staring up into the face of the one and only…

“Y-Yes, Professor Lupin!”

The snickering of your classmates didn’t go unnoticed by you, not if the feeling of heat crawling up your neck to shamelessly burn your cheeks was anything to go by.

However…

There was something more embarrassing than the annoying chuckles of the girls sitting on your left, right, behind you and in front of you.

It was the way Professor Arsène Lupin continued staring down at you, warm amber irises peering deep into your irises.

If anything, the quiet but soul piercing stare of your French teacher made the blush burning your cheeks turn an interesting shade of light scarlet.

_Screeeeech! Screeeeeech!_

_Saved by the lunch bell. Literally._

Professor Arsène’s gaze left you to stare at your peers, and no sooner had he done that, the hisses of whispers and snickering stopped.

“Pages 30 to 35 are to be read and translated to French for homework. For those who have History, I will see you all after lunch on Wednesday.”

The sound of talking lumped together with chairs scraping as students got up, schoolbags were slung over shoulders and giggles rose into the air as girls filed out of the classroom in twos or threes.

You were getting ready as everyone was leaving, deciding to linger behind and let the irksome embarrassment—as well as the blush that coloured your cheeks, complimenting your timid feelings—leave you.

The chair you sat in squeaked as it was relieved of your weight, glancing up as you were addressed by the substitute teacher himself: Professor Arsène Lupin.

“Mademoiselle (Y/N)… If you have some free time during lunch, will you return here, please? Say around… 11:40? I would like to discuss your test grade. Is that fine with you?”

What else could you do but will back a groan?

What else could you do but bob your head up and down, nodding in compliance?

What else could you do but give a respectful response?

“Yes, sir. I’ll be back at 11:40 sharp.”

**Author's Note:**

> I will limit the usage of (Y/N) in future works, as well as starters for ongoing requests/orders.
> 
> I just felt that a few here and there wouldn’t hurt too much.
> 
> Hmm. I wonder…
> 
> Should I try my hand at librarian!Ren now?


End file.
